


Sacrilege

by Hopetohell



Category: Hellraiser & Related Fandoms, Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: Blasphemy, Dildos, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: If you’re going to desecrate a church, you might as well go all out.
Relationships: Mike (Hellraiser)/Reader
Kudos: 11





	Sacrilege

You and Mike have a list. On it are all the things he’s wanted to try but hasn’t, whether from embarrassment or lack of opportunity or lack of a willing partner. The list itself was born of a conversation that started out awkward, when you’d asked if there was something special he’d wanted to try and he’d hemmed and hawed until you straddled his chest and told him “look, these are my limits. And aside from that I’ll try literally anything. So spit it out.” 

And maybe he’s inexperienced, but Mike is a quick study. More than that, he’s both enthusiastic and creative. He comes bounding through the door like an overgrown golden retriever, eyes alight. “Chapel’s closed for renovation. You up for it?” And hell, desecration? Fucking over the altar? Of course you’re up for it. 

He’s fucking gorgeous in the light that streams through the stained glass. He’s so _broad,_ and you forget that with his penchant for hiding in hoodies and that damnable leather jacket. But now moonlight slants onto his bare shoulders and isn’t that so goddamned romantic; he’s checking the last of the cuffs and yeah, you’re well and truly stuck here, spread-eagled and already dripping onto the altar cloth. 

“A sacrifice,” he’s saying, and it sends an icy thrill through you. “A tribute to your new god.” And it shouldn’t work, it’s _Mike_ for fucksake, goofy and sweet under that jerkass veneer, but he’s different here. Bigger. Colder. Imperious, as he looks down at you, as he swipes a finger through your folds. “I will drink from you and I will befoul you. I will make god’s ears _burn_ from you screaming my name.”

Wherever he’s getting this stuff from, it’s fucking inspired. The words fire straight to your cunt with sharp little stabs that translate to heat, to wetness, to the upward tilt of your hips as you chase his hand. But he’s not kind, no, and maybe you’ve taught him that too well; he teases with the very tips of his fingers and gets almost, but not quite, where you want him most. And he smirks, the bastard, eyes gone black with lust in the low light. 

“Pray for mercy,” he hisses, as he reaches for something. And that’s—

Is that a _crucifix dildo?_ Yeah, it is. And he’s got that otherworldly look in his eye again as he strokes just the tip against you, gathering wetness. And you whine, impatiently, for him to _fucking hurry up already_. It makes him snarl, makes him backhand you across the face, and he freezes for half a beat until you lick the blood from your split lip and grin up at him, feral in the moonlight. 

“Pray for mercy,” he says again, as he returns to your aching cunt, as he works the crucifix into you. And it’s not huge, certainly smaller than some of the other toys you’ve used, but it has such _interesting_ lines and bumps, and you can practically feel the path to hell opening as he begins to fuck you with it in earnest. 

And he is terrifying with his eyes deep in shadow, blown black as they are. He is cut from marble, his hand unyielding on your belly, holding you motionless, bent wholly to his will, so he can feel the crucifix inside you, deep enough to start to hurt, “to ruin you, make you mine, sacrifice you on this altar and make it run red, food for the old gods, lord you’re beautiful, give me—“

And his hand turns, and his thumb is on you, and you come screaming. 

And when you come back to yourself the crucifix is still inside you; your walls still spasm weakly around it and the knowledge of it there makes your face burn. And he stands before you, resplendent, nearly glowing, his hand on his cock as he stares down at you with an expression like fire. 

“Anoint me,“ you say. “Make me holy. Make me yours.” And with a gasp and a groan, with his hand flying over his flesh, he does.


End file.
